Without Feathers is a collection of short pieces and two plays by Woody Allen, written in the 1970’s, when he was a frequent contributor to The New Yorker. The short fiction pieces are mainly in the absurdist vein, which I love. The plays are another matter. The first, “Death” will seem very familiar to those who haven’t managed to erase Allen’s movie “Shadows and Fog” from their memory. A Kafkaesque comedy, it was quite possibly Allen’s worst movie, and the play is dreadful – I longed for it to end. The second play, “God” is better, but because most of the major characters are referred to by three different names, it would be better visually than written – it is simply too confusing to maintain its comic impact. This is not an Allen book that I’d recommend, despite the gems like “The Whore of Mensa.” ( )

"Today I saw a red and yellow sunset and thought, how insignificant I am! Of course, I thought that yesterday too, and it rained.". Brilliant. And now I know where the Whore of MENSA comes from. But I didn't get on with the plays, I rarely do. ( )

While I love Woody Allen as an actor, director and screenwriter, he is a horrible book author. This book took me a long time to get through. I read small bits at a time, as the storylines never captured my attention. Each story seems to focus on nonsense for the sake of nonsense. There never is an obvious point to any story or essay, and instead of being funny, it just seems like a writer trying way too hard to be amusing. ( )

Wikipedia in English (2)

The title of Woody Allen's second collection of New Yorker-style sprint humor is a sly comment on Emily Dickinson's famous quote, "Hope is the thing with feathers." Without Feathers delivers Allen's hopeless schlub persona--you remember, what he used to be before he was either a lecher or an auteur, depending on your politics. In addition to being as funny as anything published since, to read Without Feathers is to return to a simpler time, when being a fan of his work was common, not controversial.

Though each piece is funny, two of them are particularly notable examples of Allen's distinctive style (borrowed in large part from S.J. Perelman by way of the Borscht Belt, but distinctive, nevertheless)--"The Whore of Mensa" and "If the Impressionists Had Been Dentists." Here's an excerpt from the latter:

Mrs. Sol Schwimmer is suing me because I made her bridge as I felt it and not to fit her ridiculous mouth! That's right! I can't work to order like a common tradesman! I decided her bridge should be enormous and billowing, with wild, explosive teeth flaring up in every direction like fire! Now she is upset because it won't fit in her mouth! She is so bourgeois and stupid, I want to smash her! I tried forcing the false plate in but it sticks out like a star burst chandelier.

Without Feathers is fine, funny prose, from an American master. If you're a fan, seek it out immediately. It's a document from the days when Woody was not important, but merely hysterically funny. --Michael Gerber